


Everything Looks Better (in Hindsight)

by multilingualism



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Co-workers, Eventual Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, Major Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, No Love Triangle, Not Endgame Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, POV Multiple, Professor Hermione Granger, no infidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28755603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multilingualism/pseuds/multilingualism
Summary: Hermione was stuck. Hermione was unmoored. Was it possible to be both? While her peers' lives seemed to move at the expected pace, Hermione was rooted firmly in place and without a clue of how to move forward. Or even backward, for that matter.At this point in time, Severus had not expected to still be teaching at Hogwarts. Well, to be honest, he had not expected to still be alive. But he was, and he had come to terms with that. He had relatively more time and freedom now to do as he pleased. What more could he ask for from life?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story will heavily feature Romione. Turn away now if that is not to your liking. Otherwise, be aware that it won't end well for the pair.

Hermione twisted her body to get a better look at her bottom in the mirror. She hated dresses made from material like this because it was sure to show off her panty lines. And sure enough, there were two raised lines trailing across her buttocks. Her first instinct was to curse Ginny for picking out something so impractical but then she remembered she was a witch and dealt with the offending garment with a couple of expertly placed glamours.

There was a knock on the door. “Are you decent?” a voice asked.

“You’ve seen me naked, Ron. Just come in already!” she yelled.

“Well, you don’t need to tell the whole world, Mione!” he said, before walking into her room at 12 Grimmauld Place. “And you’re fully-clothed. Why did you need to yell about how I’ve seen you naked? Do you want Harry and my sister to hear?”

“You don’t think they know already?” Hermione asked, wand in hand and hands on hips.

“Well, I suppose they do… but you don’t need to rub their noses in it.”

“And what do you think they’re doing right now?”

“They’re getting ready.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Eugh! You really think so? Don’t talk about that stuff. That’s my little sister; I don’t want to think about it.”

“You know, she’s not so little anymore. Ginny picked out this dress for me because she said and I quote, ‘It was made to be taken off.’”

Ron picked up a piece of the hem and was rubbing it between his fingers. “It is an awfully nice green dress, maybe…”

“You think this is green? I would say it’s more blue than green. But maybe this is the wrong lighting to see it under,” she added, flirtatiously. “Maybe it would look better with the lights off.” Hermione bit her lip to punctuate her point before she realized what she had said. “No. Wait. That’s not right.”

Ron laughed and pushed a curl off her shoulder. “I knew what you meant,” he said, leaning in to place a kiss on her neck.

But even if she had not already successfully killed the mood with her pathetic attempts at sexy talk, there was little possibility of indulging in some pre-party shenanigans when she remembered that she had spent all of that time on her hair and makeup and she did not know if she would be able to recreate her hard work.

“Later,” she said, swatting him away. “Besides I think they’re almost done anyway.”

“Oh, ew, Hermione!”

Hermione supposed that the party was fun, in theory, but in practice all she could think about was how much her feet hurt. This would be the last time she let Ginny help her pick out something to wear.

They were standing in a group of friends from school--mostly former DA members--and catching up on what had happened in each other’s lives since the last time they had seen one another. To be honest, Hermione hated these sorts of conversations. She knew it was not a competition but it always sort of devolved into one.

And obviously Hermione did not stand a chance. Her greatest hobby was reading books—nothing she could say would top whatever her former classmates were doing. They were also now in that point of their lives where they were all getting married and starting families, whereas Hermione definitely was not ready for that yet. She had so much she still wanted to do before she got to that point—if she ever got there.

Michael Corner was showing off his girlfriend’s— _fiancée’s_ —engagement ring to which Hermione sent a covert glance at Ron. She took a sip of her drink and looked at him over the rim, as if to say “Can you believe this?”

It was nice, at least, to know that she and Ron were on the same page in that regard. They both did not understand the desire to rush into it when they had their whole lives ahead of them. And what was everyone trying to prove, anyway?

Ron mirrored her expression before pointing to his empty glass. Hermione obliged; she would also need a refill to get through this conversation. Hermione took his offered glass and walked from the group. All the way over to the punch bowl she could not stop thinking about how she wished she had worn different shoes and that perhaps Luna had been onto something when she insisted on going shoeless.

She had just finished up filling up both her and Ron’s glass when she bumped into someone, nearly spilling the dark red liquid all over herself.

“Sorry,” she said, before looking up and seeing who she had bumped into. “Sir,” she added when she saw it was none other than Professor Snape.

He just sort of looked at her but said nothing. Hermione scurried--well, as fast as her ridiculous shoes would let her--away, the intensity of his glare surely burning a hole into her exposed back.

“What took you so long?” Ron asked when she had finally returned. Hermione lifted up a foot in response. She knew they would just be covered in blisters when she got home. Hermione just hoped that she still had some blister balm at home; she would hate to have to go out to the apothecary to grab more.

“I also ran into Snape.” Ron’s eyes widened at that. “Literally.”

“You didn’t! What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Weird.”

“You’re telling me,” Hermione said, taking a sip.

“And he didn’t thank you?”

“No.”

“Double weird.”

Hermione was about to open her mouth to say something, when Ron pulled her in for a kiss. The gesture was, admittedly, romantic, but it caused her to spill her drink on her dress.

“Oh, Ron, look what you made me do.”

“Sorry,” he said and she knew he meant it.

Hermione sighed and pulled out her wand to Evanesco the liquid, but as she had anticipated, the stain remained. She crossed her arms. She supposed that would have to do for the rest of the evening although the pose might make her look perpetually angry.

“Do you want me to stand in front of you?” Ron whispered into her ear.

“And then what’ll happen? I won’t be able to participate in any of the discussions.”

“Maybe, but I thought you might prefer it that way,” he said.

Hermione stifled a laugh. “No, I think I can cover it up with a glamour. But thanks for the offer. Still, I don’t think I will ever get the stain out.”

“Well, I take full responsibility. I am, after all—what do you say? All fingers and toes?”

Hermione did not even try to hide her laugh that time. “All elbows and knees, yes.”

“So, I take that to mean you don’t want to dance with me later?”

“Oh, please, you never want to dance with me,” she countered.

“I might make an exception. Just this once. I did ruin your favorite dress.”

Hermione wanted to amend that it was not her favorite dress and rather something she had purchased just for the occasion but it was hardly necessary to correct him, especially when he was being so nice to her that evening.

“Unfortunately my feet hurt far too much for dancing right now,” she said with a sigh.

“That’s too bad,” Ron said with his hands in his pockets. “But, I guess there’s always next year, right?”

“Hey, Hermione, Ron,” Michael called out to them over the din. “When are you two going to tie the knot? It’s only been _how_ _many_ years?”

“Well, I’m honestly surprised it took them this long to ask,” Hermione said under her breath before she and Ron turned around to join the group.

“It hasn’t been _that_ long,” Ron said.

“Perhaps, but what about all of those years you were pining after one another?” Ron and Hermione shared an uncomfortable glance before Michael added, “We’ll see how you feel next year. I bet you’ll be singing a different tune then.”

Hermione seriously doubted it but she smiled warmly and took a big swig of her wine.


	2. Chapter 2

Severus did not know why he bothered attending these things. No, actually, that was a lie. He _did_ know why and that person’s name was Minerva McGonagall. She was always getting on his case—and his last nerves—about getting out more, but Severus did not know why “getting out” had to entail attending big events such as this.

If her goal was for him to meet more people, he was much better with one-on-one interactions. And being in the Great Hall, surrounded by practically every witch and wizard in Great Britain, was possibly the furthest thing from that. Not to mention the fact that he kept being jostled by other guests, which irked him to no end. Severus did not like being touched, let alone by strangers holding cups of liquid that impaired their fine motor skills.

But after some forced small-talk with his fellow teachers and even some brave former classmates, the festivities were finally starting to wind down, to Severus’s immense joy. He did not know why they held this party every year anyway. How was this an enjoyable sort of celebration? It was exhausting talking to all of those people, pretending that he did not want to be back in his rooms, reading some dense potions text.

When he had had enough for the time being, Severus excused himself to take a piss. On his way back from the restroom, Severus decided to grab an extra moment to himself to decompress. He could not leave the gathering for good quite yet but that did not mean he had to return to the inane conversation and fake smiles so soon. So Severus found an empty alcove and sighed loudly, even if he actually felt like screaming. 

“That bad, huh?” a voice asked.

Severus popped his head out to look down the hallway to come face-to-face with none other than Hermione Granger. He vaguely recalled seeing her earlier in the evening but looking at her now, even in the dim hallway, he could see that she was wearing a green evening gown and was, most notably, bare foot. He did not mean to stare long enough to notice such a thing but it was odd to see someone in such a state of dress—or undress?—at a fancy party.

She must have caught him gawking because she held up her shoes. “They’re absolute murder and I’ve learned my lesson—not worth the blisters.”

Severus nodded. In that way he was privileged. He might put on his good robes for such an occasion but no one even batted an eye when he also wore his well-worn (and much loved) dragonhide boots.

“Sorry about earlier,” Granger said. “I didn’t know if I should say something.”

“Oh. That,” he responded. “It’s not a big deal.” Severus had no idea what she could possibly be referring to, but he knew better than to press for details. If she was apologizing, it must not have been pleasant.

“Still,” she said. “Sorry.”

They shared a moment of silence, each presumably waiting for the other to speak up. He was not looking at her directly, but out of the corner of his eye, and he could make out her fiddling with something in her hand.

“Do you—How are you enjoying the night?” he asked at last. Even Severus was surprised to hear that he had been the one to dispel the air of awkwardness that hung between them.

Granger snorted. It was an unexpected sound coming from someone like her, someone whose nose Severus assumed was only used to make polite sniffles when others were acting distastefully. “Wonderful,” she said. “It’s just wonderful. What about you?”

“The feeling is mutual,” he said, grinning conspiratorially. Finally, someone else who understood how he felt.

“Were you also looking for a place to hide? Did I take your spot?”

“No,” he lied. “But I was not exactly hurrying back either. So, who are you hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding from anyone,” Granger corrected, suddenly defensive. “I also just needed a break. It was getting rather stuffy in there.” She fanned a hand by her face to punctuate her point. “And it doesn’t help that alcohol dilates your blood vessels.”

“That’s good. I was worried you were crying and I would have to be the one to console you.”

Granger recoiled—actually recoiled!—at his offer. But she seemed to think better of her rude gesture, because she said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I would also hate for you to be the one to console me. 

“And I’ve done it all before—the whole running from the party in my best dress, tears streaming down my face—and it’s really only something you need to experience once in your lifetime. I think I’m more of a sit and stew in my misery type of person now.”

Severus could not recall being present for such a thing but teenagers did have a flair for the dramatics so maybe her particular moment did not stick out to him. But he could appreciate who she had become. Was he not the exact same way?

“Besides,” she added, before he could interject, “nothing has happened tonight that would have been worth crying over. It’s only just been talking to people that I would rather not be talking to.”

“You can say that again,” Severus said. “I would not want to talk to these people normally. What would make them think that I would want to make conversation in a loud, crowded room?”

“I know! And the conversation is never good! It’s like, why did I get dressed up in the most uncomfortable thing I own to stand around and listen to the worst political opinions I’ve ever heard while my shoes threaten to murder me. I mean, at least there’s free food or else I might not have any reason to come at all.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Severus responded, thinking about the cream puffs he had inhaled earlier. “If I have to hear one more person tell me why Hogwarts should start charging tuition, I just might pop a blood vessel.”

It was odd. He had not expected to be having a conversation with a former student in a dark hallway at a stupid party but that was nevertheless the situation he currently found himself in. And he might have been enjoying it. A little. Kind of.

“Tell me,” she began, “is conversing just as much of a competitive sport among your generation as it is with mine?”

“My generation?” he scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She scoffed back. “Exactly what it sounds like. Or are you past the age when they expect you to get married?” 

With questions like that, Severus had to wonder if she was not a little drunk. Well, so was he. What did he expect, really?

So Severus laughed despite himself. “I think you’re right. No one ever bothers me about my marital aspirations anymore.”

She looked at him askance. “So, you’re single?”

Normally people would not dare to ask Severus Snape that question but a Gryffindor with an extra bit of liquid courage in her veins apparently did. “I am. Does that make you feel better about your own marital status at least?”

Granger looked like he had struck her. Apparently the friendly ribbing was over. Of course he had been the one to ruin it; he should have known that would happen. Severus had said the exact wrong thing, like he always did. Maybe he should not have been so confident about his one-on-one people skills.

“I should be going; my friends are probably looking for me,” she said, no longer making eye contact, still fiddling with that thing in her hand. “See you around? Or maybe not. In any case, bye, Professor Snape.”

Severus watched her go, wondering what to make of that interaction. But it was just as she had said, it was not like they would be seeing one another any time soon. In fact, he probably would not be seeing her until the same time next year.


	3. Chapter 3

“C’mon, Mione, my family loves you! They’re doing this for you!”

Hermione was skeptical. While she did not doubt that Arthur had a fondness for her and her deep well of Muggle knowledge, she was not as certain about Molly “loving” her. In fact, Hermione had made peace with the idea that she would never measure up in Ron’s mother’s eyes.

“But you didn’t tell me that we would be leaving the house today; I’m hardly dressed to go out. And tomorrow is my first day. Can’t I just relax here?”

“I didn’t tell you because tonight was supposed to be a surprise,” Ron explained.

“Oh, well, when you say it like that…'' Hermione said, pretending to be annoyed. She could feel herself being convinced to put down her book and get up off of her butt.

She told herself that it was not the absolute worst to go over to the Weasleys and enjoy a dinner in her honor. And, as Ron had pointed out, _most_ of the Weasleys did like her. She got along quite well with Mr. Weasley, Bill, and George, not to mention Ginny and Harry, who was a Weasley in everything but name.

So, Hermione exhaled loudly, but she walked upstairs from her comfortable perch in her reading chair to put on something presentable. And when she came back downstairs, Ron complimented her and gave her a peck on the cheek. She still could feel the warmth from that kiss as they Apparated to the Burrow.

As Ron had threatened, the Weasleys (and Harry) yelled surprise when she came through the door. There was a homemade “Congratulations, Hermione” banner hanging from the rafters and George let off one of the confetti cannons he sold in his shop. They all--including Mrs. Weasley and Fleur--gave Hermione a hug. This welcome was enough for Hermione to be glad that she had gotten out of the house.

But it was in Molly’s arms that Hermione did a quick headcount and saw that Percy was nowhere to be found. The two of them were not exactly friends, to say the least, but she would at least expect him to show up for this family get-together, even if it had been thrown in her honor. Then again, there was always the possibility that he was probably swamped at the office with whatever crisis was sweeping the Ministry that week.

“Now let’s sit down; dinner’s getting cold,” Mrs. Weasley said, ushering Hermione to the table. In the past she had sat between Ron and Harry, but today she was given Mrs. Weasley’s spot at the head. 

“I wanted to make your favorite, Hermione. So I hope Ron wasn’t lying when he said you loved roast and trying to get his own favorite meal.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. He wasn’t lying; I _do_ love it. One of the many things we have in common, I guess,” Hermione said, without thinking. She and Ron, in truth, did not have much in common. Opposites attract, right? But Mrs. Weasley had long moved on from that question and was already spooning a hearty helping onto Hermione’s plate.

When everyone had been served, Hermione dug in. Her favorite dinner with some of her favorite people. She did not know when she had had such a treat. It was also helping any lingering anxieties she had about starting her new career.

“So,” Mrs. Weasley began, “how does it feel to finally have a real, adult job?”

Hermione did not know what that particular barb was for but she tried to let it slide off her shoulders, because Mrs. Weasley was not being factually incorrect, at least in her eyes. It was a “real” job to Molly, rather than just a “fake” job, like an apprenticeship or internship. Still, Hermione had worked just as hard before and didn’t appreciate the insinuation.

“I am excited but also a little nervous, I’ll admit,” Hermione said, smoothing away any dismay from her features.

“Don’t be,” Mr. Weasley said from across the table. He gave her a gentle grin and a little wink. “You’re going to do wonderfully.”

A warmth bloomed in Hermione’s chest at that validation from Mr. Weasley, even if he was probably only saying it because it was the polite and expected thing to do. She blushed and looked down into her lap. Hermione hoped she was just as capable as Mr. Weasley thought she was.

“Yes, well, now that you’ve taken this step, maybe it is time for you to take _more steps_ in the right direction,” Molly added.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermione said, smiling broadly, trying to feign ignorance. Talking to Mrs. Weasley was often an exercise in walking on eggshells. All of her previous good will toward the evening was going straight out the window.

“Well, how long have you and Ron been dating now?”

“A couple years, why?” she asked, even though she knew exactly where this conversation was going.

“I just want to say I’m not going to live forever and I would like some grandchildren before I die.”

“Mum, you have sev-- _six_ \--children, it’s statistically improbable that _none_ of us give you a grandchild before you die,” George said.

“I don’t know… not at this rate I won’t.”

While everyone was sharing forced laughs and awkward glances, Hermione looked at Bill and Fleur. Bill had taken Fleur’s hand and was stroking it under the table. Hermione had a lot of empathy for him as the eldest brother and the first to have married. If Hermione was already getting the talk, she could not begin to imagine the pressure they were under.

“I would not worry about it, Mollywobbles,” Mr. Weasley said. “It’s just as George said, all in good time. Besides we’re here to celebrate what Hermione has accomplished, not what she has yet to do. To Hermione.” He lifted his glass.

“To Hermione,” the room echoed.

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” she said.

“Please, call me Arthur.”

Hermione smiled, this time a genuine smile, before taking a sip of her drink. But it left a bitter taste in her mouth. How was she supposed to feel good about this next step in her life when it already was not good enough for other people? And she had been so excited too.

Hermione maintained her stiff upper lip and tried to look like she was having a good time through the rest of dinner and her favorite dessert. The fact that Mrs. Weasley had put in so much effort to make her favorite things was another dagger in the heart. Was she being a horrible, ungrateful wretch?

The hour grew late and Hermione excused herself, desperate to get back to Grimmauld Place so she could have a full night’s rest. Ron had wanted to stay longer and Hermione told him he could, but he insisted on going home with her.

After doing her lengthy nighttime routine, she slid into their creaky old bed, that had once belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Black. Hermione had thought sleeping and having sex in it was a nice middle finger to those pureblooded pricks and she slept better at night for it. 

She turned on her reading light and opened up her book. There was a dip in the bed as Ron joined her. When she finished her chapter and was ready to call it a night, set her book on the bedside table, turned off her light, and leaned over to Ron to kiss him goodnight.

But Hermione was still thinking about what Mrs. Weasley had said to her over dinner. She really wished she could have a better relationship with his mother, especially if-- _when_ \--she and Ron got to the point when they would be married with children. It would only get worse from there.

Ron must have picked up on her rumination because he asked, “What’s wrong?” when they broke apart.

Hermione remained silent, however. When her new job started, they would be seeing each other a lot less. Was this really the ideal time to start something that could fester into resentment?

“Please just tell me. ”

But Hermione was still trying to choose her words carefully.

“Alright...” he said before turning off his light.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh. “It’s only… I don’t think bringing up grandchildren at this point in our lives is appropriate. I mean, we’re not even engaged; we live in our friend’s house. It’s not exactly the best environment for raising a child.”

“She’s not serious, Mione. She’s just trying to be funny. That’s what people her age joke about. She doesn’t mean to sound pushy; it only comes across that way.”

“Your mother might think she’s being funny but did you see Fleur’s face? She has obviously had to deal with this as well. I don’t think she found it particularly amusing.”

Hermione might have spoken more about how Fleur and Bill might have been trying very hard and could have even suffered tragedies that they weren’t ready to share yet. But she knew how Ron felt when she implied his siblings were having sex.

“Fleur is her own person; she can speak for herself,” Ron said.

“Yes, but it might be construed as rude, as you pointed out. So, maybe _Bill_ , who is closer to _his_ mother, could say something.”

“You’re not talking about Bill, are you?”

“No, I am not.”

Ron exhaled loudly. He was looking at the ceiling. “The thing is… I get that, Mione. I do. But I don’t know if I feel comfortable doing that. She loves babies so much. Can’t you just… go along with it? Is it really the end of the world?”

Hermione rolled over to face the opposite wall. No, it was not the end of the world. But why did Hermione also have to pretend that she thought it was funny? That was her life, her future. How was that funny?

“No, I suppose it’s not,” she said, her desire to continue this conversation waning. Ron wasn’t fighting with her, exactly, but he wasn’t listening either. Hermione knew a lost cause when she saw one.

“Goodnight, Mione,” he said, kissing her on the temple.

“Goodnight,” she echoed, still looking at the wall.

But it was not a good night at all. She tossed and turned all night while Ron snored beside her. She stared into the dark trying to think about anything else, but her brain was being less than accommodating. Eventually, however, she resigned herself to the idea that she would be tired and irritable the next day.

A _perfect_ start for her next steps, she thought bitterly.


	4. Chapter 4

The school year had not even begun at Hogwarts and Severus was already dreading its arrival. While his ability to teach had improved markedly since the stress of being a double-agent had been removed from his life, it was still a lot of work to educate and—his least favorite part—to babysit a horde of children ranging from prepubescent to _very_ hormonal. Not to mention the fact that he would now have significantly less time for his own experiments.

That morning he was sitting through another all-staff meeting and barely paying attention, instead trying to figure out an acceptable brewing schedule for the term. He had been doing this teaching thing for decades, which was not at all scary to think about, so there was nothing new for him to learn. Severus was already acutely aware of his responsibilities—Minerva just needed to hand him his schedule and tell him the nights he would be doing rounds.

He did not know why his boss was so intent upon still holding these meetings when even the youngest among the staff were already veterans of teaching at this point. Minerva had not hired someone new since Longbottom and Severus figured that was at least five years ago.

But Severus was so intent upon not paying attention that he did not notice there was, in fact, an extra head in the room.

“Now that we have gotten our administrative business out of the way, I would like to welcome our new History of Magic professor—though I’m sure most of you know her already—Hermione Granger!”

There was a round of applause, which Severus reluctantly joined in on. He had not realized that Granger would be joining their staff. Severus wondered how Minerva had finally convinced Binns to retire. Or maybe she had not. Maybe she would just be moving the History of Magic classroom to another part of the castle and Minerva would conveniently “forget” to tell Binns about it. Severus could not help but smile at the idea. It was not as if the ghost would ever even find out.

After their very useless meeting, Minerva invited all of her teachers to the Three Broomsticks to get a drink, or two—or five, for Hagrid. They walked in a loose-knit pack from the castle to Hogsmeade. And all the while Severus made pleasant small talk with Filius, or rather, Filius talked to him and Severus just nodded. He could not help but sneak looks at his newest coworker, who was talking to Longbottom.

Severus could hardly believe she was actually here, among them. He wondered why she had not mentioned beginning a career in education when they had had their encounter at the party, but that had been months ago and perhaps this was only a recent development. McGonagall certainly had not thought to mention it to him either—not that she had needed to, of course.

He hoped she had become less of an insufferable know-it-all over the years, but experience told Severus not to get his hopes up. People didn’t change, not really. Our personality (and trauma) was baked into us from an early age and became ever more immutable as time passes. Severus himself was proof of this.

Inside the Three Broomsticks, Severus offered to help grab the drinks, but so did Granger, which meant they were forced to sit beside one another in the two, remaining empty spots. Yet neither acknowledged the other’s presence, apparently content to pretend that they did not exist.

However, when their respective other seatmates had both stood up to use the restroom, they were now sat beside each other in uncomfortable silence. And once more an unease, which seemed almost palpable, permeated the unfortunately small space between them. Eventually the urge to say something— _anything_ —to Granger was too much and his desire to break that silence won out over his fierce dislike of inane chatter.

“So, History of Magic...” Severus began. He was confident that this would be a safe subject of conversation, unlike her marital status.

“I know, you probably think it’s beneath me,” she said. Severus had been wrong. Her choice of career was also, apparently, a loaded topic.

“I never said such a thing,” he said. But Granger was silent, so he continued, “I think students would benefit from knowing our history, especially given… _recent events_. That makes you the perfect person for the job.”

Severus winced internally. Perhaps that had also been the wrong thing to say. His choice of words had been layered with meaning and Severus himself was not entirely certain the subtext was exactly positive.

But Longbottom had returned from the restroom, saving Severus any more needless embarrassment, and Longbottom and Granger had picked back up on the conversation they had left off on.

Severus decided it was probably for the best if he did not speak to Granger anymore. He would be doing himself—and Granger—a favor.

* * *

Severus’s favorite mornings were those when he could wake up early, have some tea, and do his crossword puzzle by himself. He was only able to have those mornings before the start of term, so he was savoring them now while he still could. Unfortunately for him, however, someone else also seemed to be an early bird.

Granger came into the Great Hall balancing a bowl of something and a wide-brimmed white mug. Severus had never seen such a mug before, as their tea was served in normal-sized tea cups. Maybe it was an indication of how utterly boring his life had become, but his curiosity was piqued instantly by the appearance of that strange mug.

But Granger, to her credit, sat far from him and took out a book from her pocket. He watched her take a bite of whatever was in her bowl, followed by a sip from her mug. And whatever was in the mug left a bit of white, foamy residue on her upper lip. Coincidentally that was also when she decided to glance up at Severus.

Severus had been trying to keep good on his promise not to talk to her, but it was Granger who spoke first this time. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Am I disturbing your breakfast?”

“Not at all,” he lied. He considered his next words carefully. Severus could not afford to embarrass himself further. So, he decided wordlessly would be the way to go. Severus rubbed under his nose, like he had an itch to scratch.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, clearly baffled by his gesture.

“You, er, have milk on your face,” he explained, giving up on his, admittedly ill-conceived, first idea.

“Oh.” She took a napkin from her lap and wiped her mouth. “It appears I do. Thank you for telling me. I have a feeling some of our other colleagues would not do me the courtesy.”

“Oh?” he said, practically begging her to continue. But she did not take him up on that offer and continued reading. It was quite odd considering he remembered Granger being particularly loquacious in his classes.

 _Where had this reticence come from?_ he wondered. _Oh, that’s right. From him and his big mouth and awkward turn of phrase._

“What is that, anyway?” Severus asked, despite himself and all of his rules. He truly did want to know what was in the mug and just staring at her was not going to answer it for him.

“What?” Granger asked, not even looking up from her book.

“Your drink,” he clarified.

“A latte,” she said.

“And how did you get this latte?”

“The elves made it for me.”

“Really? The elves did not offer me one when I went to the kitchens this morning.” She had just started at Hogwarts and the elves were already making her espresso beverages?

Granger shrugged. “They don’t like you as much as they like me,” she said, as if it were obvious to everyone but Severus.

“Why wouldn’t they like me? I make my own breakfast and everything.” Severus did not mean to sound so offended but he definitely came across that way.

She shrugged again. She really could not be less interested in what he had to say, could she? What had happened to the eager-to-please girl he had once known? Severus was not angry with her, just surprised. Talking with him must have been like pulling teeth.

“Do you know all of their names?” Granger asked.

Severus thought about it. He could probably name a half-dozen but Hogwarts probably employed at least four times as many as that. “No, I suppose I do not.”

“Well, there you go. Maybe if you learn their names, you too will receive a latte.”

“I’ll get right to it,” Severus said with a laugh.

It was then that she finally looked up at him, probably surprised to hear a sound of joy coming from his mouth. She gave him a quick once over before furrowing her brow in confusion. “Are you writing with a pencil?”

“You don’t expect me to do the crossword in pen, do you?”

“No… I just—do you have a pencil sharpener?”

“Yes. In my office.”

“How long have you had this sharpener?”

It was Severus’s turn to shrug. And he had to admit it felt pretty damn good to be the one doing it for once. “For as long as I’ve been a teacher.”

“You’ve had a pencil sharpener in your office all of these years? I had to use a quill at school, when I could have been using an erasable writing implement?”

“In all fairness, have you tried writing in pencil on parchment?”

“No, I have not.”

“It does not work well.”

“Well, in any case, I’m still jealous.”

“As you should be,” he deadpanned. Of all the things they could talk about, why pencil sharpeners? Only Granger would care about something so mundane.

Granger rolled her eyes and returned to her breakfast, while Severus returned to his crossword. But his mind was still on the latte. How did the elves even make one? Had Minerva bought the espresso machine for them? And to what end? Those little balls of energy were pepped-up enough as it was, even without the aid of caffeine.

“Do you know—” he said, turning to ask Granger his question, when he noticed that Longbottom had sat down beside her and they were now engaged in conversation. Granger laughed at something he said, causing her to hit her spoon against her bowl in rapid succession as the laughter shook her whole body.

“Pardon me” she said, looking up and meeting Severus’s gaze. Granger must have assumed that he was staring because he was annoyed at her, when that could not be further from the truth.

Severus was about to open his mouth and tell her it was no problem at all, when he heard the rest of the staff arrive. Hagrid filled in the space between them, obstructing Granger from his view. But that was alright. He could not continue to stare at her without arousing suspicion.

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” Hagrid said. “Lovely day we’re having.”

“Good morning,” Severus intoned rotely. Hagrid looked at him expectantly. Severus sighed before saying, “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

Hagrid chuckled. “That’s probably because you always have your head down, reading one thing or another. Just like our Hermione, I reckon.”

Severus tensed but also focused every muscle in his face to maintain his emotionless mien. It was not as if he had not noticed that particular similarity between the two of them, but he did not want to invite others to make the connection. If it got out that Severus and Granger were even somewhat alike, then Minerva might take it upon herself to make them befriend each other.

Well, Severus couldn’t speak for Granger, of course, but he was perfectly happy to keep her at an arm’s length and maintain a professional, appropriate—if not chilly—rapport. Besides, it was not as if Severus was looking for new acquaintances anyway. He was perfectly happy to chat with Aurora or Filius, or even Rolanda from time to time. But otherwise, his roster was completely full.

Just as he liked it, he thought.


	5. Chapter 5

After a week of seemingly unending work, Hermione could finally stop and take a breath. She left early—she had earned it—and returned to Grimmauld Place. The flowers that she had planted in the window boxes she had built by hand were still in bloom. She bent over to sniff them, her purse sliding from her shoulder. They were quite lovely this time of year but Hermione was already mourning their loss when the seasons inevitably changed.

She did a little jog up the steps and pushed the front door open, unsurprised to find the house almost totally silent, save for the creaks and groans that seemed to possess every old home. Hermione went upstairs to her and Ron’s bedroom and was preparing to change before she caught sight of her appearance in the floor-length mirror. She turned to scrutinize herself and found both her outfit lacking. How could a blouse simultaneously feel both incredibly adult and like she was play-acting at being an adult?

Herminone opened the old, mahogany wardrobe to find something more suitable to wear. Scanning the hangers, her eyes landed squarely on a sundress she had bought earlier that summer. Ron had told her she looked pretty in it because the mint green color set off her hair and eyes well, while Hermione liked the tiny flowers that dotted the fabric.

She slipped it on before doing a little twirl in front of the mirror. Hermione already had on mascara but she dabbed on a bit of sparkly, sheer lip gloss. She grinned broadly at her reflection.

 _That was more like it_ , she thought.

Buoyed by the euphoria of the end of her work week and feeling good, Hermione practically floated to the kitchen. She had become overcome with a sudden desire to make dinner for Ron and Harry—and maybe Ginny, if she was around—but she was not exactly sure what to make. Nor was she confident in her skills.

It was not that she was unskilled in the kitchen, but she did not feel like she possessed a particular ease either. Hermione longed to be the kind of person who could just whip something up off the top of her head, but she was still very much at the reread-the-recipe-thirty-times stage of her cooking journey.

From the study, she summoned a stack of cookbooks, but perhaps her command had not been specific enough because some also seemed to be dark potions books. She tossed those aside. They were not without their merit—purely academic, of course—but in this situation they were utterly useless.

With a system that would make many librarians jealous, Hermione began leafing through the remaining books. To her great consternation, however, these books seemed to only be filled with really old recipes. Like before sugar was readily available old. So, Hermione gave up. She would just have to figure it out at the store.

Hermione loved the little grocery shop that was just round the corner from Grimmauld Place. It was one of her favorite spots in the neighborhood and she could hardly cook, that’s how wonderful it was! In less busy times in her life she had loved wandering down to the store to pick up a coffee and a newspaper before reading it on a park bench under a shady tree. She was not sure when she would be able to do such a thing again but Hermione hoped it was soon.

And when Ron and Harry returned from their own busy days, Hermione kissed Ron on the cheek before telling both of them that they were doing something special for dinner.

“Are we going to go to Nando’s?” Ron asked. Apparently hope sprang eternal for him.

Hermione shook her head, which caused Ron to deflate a little. “But I was going to get ingredients at the store. Do you want to come with me?” And right before her eyes, Ron perked up once more. She could hardly contain her smile.

A very helpful employee recommended components to make a simple pasta dish along with a couple of instructions, while Ron went around and excitedly pointed out the more “Muggle” grocery items. He especially liked the idea of a frozen dinner, which seemed like the height of practicality for him. His excitement was contagious and as Hermione walked home, there was a definite spring in her step, feeling confident about what she was about to accomplish. She could do it.

She could, most assuredly, not do it. She had burnt the sauce and overcooked the noodles and frazzled her nerves. Maybe Hermione had been getting ahead of herself when she had assumed that she would be able to do something simple well. Maybe her skills were not up to snuff. Not to mention the fact that she hadn’t had a written recipe to follow, only verbal instructions. One day she would be a goddess in the kitchen but today was not that day.

Once she had gotten rid of any evidence that she had even tried to make dinner, she walked into the living room and told the guys they were getting Nando’s. Ron was thrilled.

And after dinner, Ginny came over and they played a couple of card games, chatting, laughing, and drinking butterbeers until it was time for them all to go to bed.

The lights were off and it was time to sleep but Hermione found the sense of being pulled into blissful oblivion evading her. She rolled over.

“Ron?”

“Mm?”

“Are you awake?”

“Now I am. What’s up?”

“Do you want to… you know?” They hadn’t seen each other in a week and Hermione missed him. She wanted to hold him, to touch him, and to be held and touched.

“Mione, Harry and my sister are in the other room.” Disappointment slid over her skin like cool water. She felt the keen prick of rejection even though she knew he wasn’t rejecting her, just telling her that he wasn’t in the mood right now. Hermione had no right to be hurt over that, she knew, but she had also been so excited.

“Oh.” _Hasn’t stopped you in the past_ , she thought, but didn’t say.

“And I’m tired. It’s been a long week for both of us.”

“No, you’re right.” Hermione had herself been tired only hours before. Where had this energy come from? “Goodnight, Ron.”

“Goodnight, Mione.”

Later that weekend, when Harry was out of the house and Hermione was on the sofa reading a book, Ron came into the room. Hermione instantly put down her book to look at her boyfriend. His hair was tousled and he was spending his lazy day still in his pajamas. In a word: he looked adorable.

But he was not looking at Hermione and instead at the antique hardwood flooring. “You know I’ve been thinking…” he said, rubbing the back of his head self-consciously, further mussing his hair.

“A dangerous past-time,” Hermione countered with a smile.

Hermione expected him to respond with their usual refrain of “I know,” but instead he said, “About the other night…”

“Oh,” she said, suddenly understanding the origin of his discomfort. “We don’t have to talk about that, Ron. I’m not angry with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. You are well within your right—”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “It’s more than just that. I was also thinking about what my mum said. About being adults and taking the next step.”

Hermione swallowed hard; she had a feeling she knew where this was going. This topic was Rome—all conversations inevitably led to it.

“I think we should consider getting our own place.”

Hermione relaxed a little bit; so it was not going where she had expected. That was a relief. But then again, why had it been such a relief?

“You know, we have real jobs now and we’re getting older…” he continued.

“You’re acting like we’re middle-aged. We’re not _that_ old. And we’re both so busy with work; we’re hardly around anyway. What’s wrong with staying here a bit longer?”

“But why _not_ get our own place? Do you think Harry and Ginny want us as housemates when they get married?”

“Harry and Ginny are getting married?” she asked. This was news to her.

“No, not yet, but… what about us?”

“What about us?” Hermione asked. She could feel her shoulders tighten.

“Well, when we get married, we’re not going to want to live with Harry and my sister either.”

“No, you’re right. I guess…” Hermione said, before trailing off.

“What? What were you going to say?”

“It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not. Say it. Communicate. Isn’t that the key to any relationship?”

“No, you’re right.” Hermione took a deep breath. “I guess I had just assumed we would have... _more time_.”

“More time for what?”

“More time before we grew up. I know… I know it sounds crazy since we’ve legally been adults for a while now, but… in some ways—how do I say this? We had to grow up so fast as it was. Why speed up the process, you know?”

She looked at Ron, who was staring off into the distance. Had she been rambling for too long? Had she said something wrong and hurt his feelings? She may not have said outright that she did not want to marry him, but it might have come out that way.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” she asked It was a childish question, but then again, she was feeling like a child. She had actually been feeling like that a lot lately.

“Of course not, Mione. I’m just thinking,” he said, though she could not help but feel like he was not telling her the whole truth. Was it his issue that he would not tell her everything that he was feeling? Or, more likely the case, was it that it was her fault for not taking his words at face value?

“A dangerous past-time,” she said again in a sing-song.

“I know,” he said, giving her a half-smile.

He had said it back to her this time. And still, it feel like there was a rock in the pit of her stomach?


	6. Chapter 6

The school year was almost upon them and Severus had decided to go for a walk. Normally he would not be caught dead outside in the light of day, but he was rather interested in seeing the new plants Hagrid and Longbottom had added to the sprawling Hogwarts gardens. Severus left the castle through the courtyard, which was where he noticed someone else enjoying the soft summer breeze. 

Granger was sat on a lichen-covered bench. She had several books floating around her head and her eyes darted between them as she furiously scribbled in a spiral-bound notebook.

Severus, however, continued walking past her without a single word or second glance. Not only was she very obviously otherwise-engaged, Severus was still firmly against forming a friendship with Granger. Too many pleasantries could turn even the most distant coworkers into treasured colleagues—he had seen it happen too many times before.

He was pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed taking a leisurely stroll around the grounds, especially without the presence of troublesome students. It was just him, the fresh air, and the distant call of far-off birds. Perhaps Hagrid had been right, Severus realized. He ought to spend more time outdoors. It really did help to calm his nerves and could help him mentally prepare for the new semester.

After he had thoroughly explored the gardens and seen the new bearded begonias and flying figworts, he returned the way he had come. Severus estimated he had spent about an hour or two on his foray into the botanical world and yet, Granger was right where he had left her. Only this time the creases between her eyebrows had increased ten-fold.

“Mi— _Professor_ Granger, how are you on this fine day?” Severus knew he was breaking his rule by talking to her, but he was a little curious to see what had her so frustrated.

She looked up from whatever she was working on and Severus was surprised to see that she was scowling somewhat. “I am quite well. Thank you for asking.” Her scowl, however, told a different story.

“What are you working on? An essay?” Granger looked confused, so he added, “Is that what you like doing in your spare time?”

It was not a wild suggestion, based on the sheer number of texts she was consulting and who she was, but her confusion told him he had missed the mark entirely. He was absolutely terrible at talking to people. He was just being a nuisance. Was he becoming one of those men? A man who couldn’t tell when a woman wanted to be left alone? Merlin, that was a scary thought.

But, to his credit, Granger’s brow smoothed and she said, “No, I am actually working on my lesson plans. It has been quite the ordeal and I feel like I am no closer to finishing them.”

“Just do what I did, copy off your predecessor’s… Oh, that is right; your predecessor is an incorporeal specter incapable of writing anything down. I am sorry for even suggesting it.”

“No, he does not. And when I asked Professor McGonagall if there is a standard she would like me to teach against, she told me, and I quote, ‘Not really. Anything you decide to teach will be better than what Binns was doing.’” Granger sighed loudly. “I just wish I knew what material he’s already covered and tailor it accordingly. I’ve tried to remember what I learned, but it was actually not that recently ago.”

Severus was about to make a comment about how it was much more recent than his own History of Magic lessons but he held his tongue. Instead, however, he was about to say something much more regrettable. But the look on Granger’s face, combined with his own memories of being an inexperienced teacher with the crushing weight of so many new responsibilities, made him much more sympathetic than normal toward her plight.

“Why don’t you come to my office later and I can help you out? If you would like that, of course,” he said.

Granger, to either his horror or joy, brightened up immediately. “I would like that, actually. I would like that a lot. You know, I have felt far too nervous to ask someone else, so you can’t begin to know how much I appreciate this.”

Severus smiled a little, but then immediately closed his mouth when he realized how weird it would be for Granger to see him smile. “Wonderful. Does after dinner work?”

“Yes, that would work perfectly.”

“Excellent. See you there.”

“See you there, sir.”

Severus was about to say that she did not need to call him ‘sir,’ but the look on her face told him that she also knew that that was the wrong thing to say. Eventually they would learn how to address each other as colleagues, but today was apparently not that day.

Severus had never mentored a new teacher before—there was probably a reason for that—but he was going to try his best. After teaching for many decades, one might assume that Severus felt comfortable as a teacher but that person would be wrong. Still, he would put his best foot forward. And if he could not help her with the interpersonal part of teaching, at least he could help her with the logistics, something he was much better at.

Granger arrived after dinner as planned and as Severus led her into his office, he had an overwhelming urge to offer her something to drink. That was what people did when they entertained, was it not? But he only had an old bottle firewhisky and that would probably not be conducive to what they were trying to do.

Severus cleared a spot on his desk for her to put down her papers and books, which Granger used to the fullest extent. She plopped down with such a thud that led Severus to wonder how strong she must be.

“Right,” she said. “Where do we start?”

“At the very beginning,” Severus said. Granger looked at him askance, clearly unamused. “Okay. Got it. Not helpful.”

She returned her gaze to the papers and flipped through them. “So, at first I thought I would start the first-years on early history and progress every subsequent year until the seventh-years were pretty much modern day.”

“Seems reasonable,” Severus said, which earned him another look from Granger. He had apparently interrupted her.

“Well, but then I compared history to other subjects and I realized that is not how they are taught. You don’t really teach children in a straightforward manner, but rather teach them like building a pyramid. You start a foundation in the subject in earlier years with the basics and gradually build up from there.”

Severus nodded. Granger was once more looking at him. Now she wanted a response? “Yes, I would say that’s a fair assessment.”

“And what I learned from reading up on history is taught in Muggle schools, is that rather than teaching history linearly from year to year, every year is a different scope.”

“Interesting…”

“What I was thinking was to do general history for the first couple of years and to get them thinking critically about the subject, even from that age, but then, as they get older, spend the year focusing on the regions of the world, so they get a different perspective outside of the British Isles.”

“Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this—”

“I have! I’ve been thinking about it since before I got hired. I actually brought this proposal to Professor McGonagall.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that.”

Severus could not help but be impressed. He had always known Granger to be a hard worker but this was a whole other level of taking initiative.

“I just don’t know when to introduce modern events. I really do want to focus on that. I want students to know what to look for so they won’t fall for it themselves. No offense.”

“None taken. I will be the first to admit I was young and foolish. I’m sure younger me would have benefited from this type of material immensely.”

Granger bit her lip. “I am also a teeny-tiny bit worried that the Ministry will find out.”

“But as you said yourself, there aren’t any standards that you have to teach to. Surely they won’t care either way.”

Granger flipped absent-mindedly through her notes. “You’re right. They might not care. But I would say my material has a somewhat anti-Ministry bent, to put it nicely.”

“They don’t have a good track record, do they?” Severus laughed darkly.

“No, they do not. And I think this might be a lot, even for them. Especially if I am critical of the current administration as well.”

Severus nodded at Granger. “That would make sense… given who you are, but, if anything, they should expect it from you.”

“That is another thing I worry about. What if it just sounds like I am saying this stuff to be petty? Does that lessen my message?”

Severus tried to look pensive for a moment but he already knew his answer. Granger, for all of her perceived faults, was an incredibly thoughtful individual. He was confident she would be able to get her point across eloquently without sounding biased.

“No, I think you will do just fine.”

She smiled at him, but then appeared to realize what she was doing because she stopped in an instant. “That leads me to my next question: do you think this is too much?” she asked, finally showing him what she had been so diligently working on.

When Severus saw the meticulous tables Granger had made for her lessons, his eyes widened considerably. “You know… I didn’t think I could help you but maybe we can make this more reasonable.”

“It’s somewhat aspirational, isn’t it?”

“Only a little bit,” Severus admitted with a smile. He closed his lips abruptly, however, when he remembered his less-than-perfect teeth. “Nothing we can’t figure out together, though.”


	7. Chapter 7

Their careers seemed dead-set on keeping Hermione and Ron apart. She was starting to get jealous of Ginny and Harry, who were still able to see each other often, despite Ginny’s chaotic practice and travel schedule. In Hermione’s eyes she and Ron had basically become long-distance, despite her technically still living at Grimmauld Place.

That evening, however, she would actually be free to do something with Ron, to which Ginny suggested they all go on a double date. Hermione might have declined the offer—on account of her festering jealousy for the pair—but her boyfriend had seemed amenable, so suddenly she was amenable as well. It was not the end of the world, she reasoned, to go out to dinner with Ginny and Harry, since they were her friends too. And at least it gave her something to look forward to at the end of a busy week. 

Neither Ron nor Harry were home yet from work, which meant she would probably have plenty of time to shower and get ready before they went out. Hermione had learned from her last attempt that she was not cut out for cooking, at least not just yet. And besides, she told herself, eating out always made it more special anyway.

She sang loudly in the shower as she watched the suds circle the drain. She used her razor as a microphone as she shaved her armpits, legs, and nether regions. It was going to itch like crazy down there when she was done but it would be worth it. She was going to make her opportunity count.

Hermione, unconcerned with being seen by her absent housemates, stepped out of the shower, with only a towel draped over her shoulders to catch the water falling from her dripping hair. Then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. The door to Harry’s room was open and the man himself stepped out, causing Hermione to yelp in surprise and cover herself up. Ginny came out soon afterward, probably because of the yelling.

Hermione ran backwards into the bathroom before hastily throwing on her work clothes, which stuck to her wet skin. She hated that feeling more than almost anything, but she grinned and bore it. Then she walked back into the hallway to find Harry still looking stunned and Ginny barely stifling a laugh.

“When did you two get home?” she asked, trying to not think about Harry having seen her naked body. “I didn’t hear you.”

“We’ve been here the entire time, lucky for us. So we got to hear the whole concert.”

“The entire time?” Hermione asked, feeling herself flush. “Well, where’s Ron?”

Harry shrugged. “He was still at the office when I left.”

“He does know it’s my night off, doesn’t he?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, sounding distinctly like he was trying to assuage Hermione’s fears rather than like he actually had any confidence in his answer. “He probably got help up or something. His new boss is a huge prick.”

Hermione nodded. At least she could relate to that aspect, only hers was an awful coworker.

“Alright,” Hermione said. “I’ll be downstairs, then. Come get me if you two want dinner.”

“Don’t worry; we’ll all go out when Ron gets back,” Ginny said. But the way she said that told Hermione that they all had their doubts.

Hermione nestled into her spot on the reupholstered couch and covered herself in the blanket she had knitted herself—a very lumpy affair, but nevertheless cozy—before summoning a book to herself. This particular book was about the lifecycle of eels and how the mating grounds of these fish were still a mystery to modern science.

Hermione got to the chapter about the Sargasso Sea before she felt her eyelids drooping. She allowed the book to fall on her chest and for herself to fall into a blissful sleep, confident that Harry or Ginny would wake her up when it was time to go.

She was awoken from her impromptu slumber by the front door opening. She sat up much too quickly and looked around the room. It was very dark and she was rather disoriented. Was it morning or night?

Hermione stood up and stumbled to the door, rubbing her eyes and leaning against the frame of the entryway into the foyer.

“Mione?” a gravelly voice asked. “What are you doing down here?”

“You woke me up,” she said. “I was having a nap.”

“Oh, sorry. Why were you sleeping in the study? We have a bed, you know.”

 _Not that we ever share it_ , she thought darkly. But she felt guilty for that immediately after the fact. It was not as if either of them wanted to keep missing the other.

“I was waiting for you,” she said. “I fell asleep because you took so long to arrive.” Hermione was desperately trying to convey that she was not mad at Ron, just disappointed that they had lost another valuable opportunity to spend some quality time together. But all she could hear was the nagging in her own voice.

“Why were you waiting for me?” he asked.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth slowly. Her stomach grumbled and she remembered that she had not had dinner either. She was trying to exercise restraint and keep a cool head, but did Ron honestly not remember? 

“Why was I waiting for you? I had tonight off. I told you. Multiple times.” Hermione stopped. There was that nagging again. And hadn’t Harry said that Ron must have been caught up at work?

Ron sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Mione. It must’ve slipped my mind. I promise to make it up to you next time.”

Ron pulled her in for a hug then tilted her chin up for a kiss. Hermione was so close to returning the kiss—she really did want to forgive him, after all—when she smelled the bitter sting of alcohol on his breath.

“Were you drinking, by chance?” Ron nodded slowly, as if he sensed he was entering a trap. “I thought you were _working_ and that was why you weren’t back yet.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. Just in that one word, Hermione could already hear that he was ready to go on the defensive. “I went out drinking with some friends from work.”

Hermione might not have thought much of that comment, beyond being hurt that he had forgotten all about the time she had wanted to spend with him, but Ron continued talking. And, Merlin, did she wish he hadn’t.

“It’s not that big of a deal; don’t act like you haven’t done the same thing as well. There was a good mix of men and women too.”

“What is that supposed to mean? ‘Good mix of men and women?’ I wasn’t worried before but now I’m wondering if I should be.”

“Mione, keep your voice down. Do you want Harry and Ginny to hear?”

Hermione wanted to say fuck their friends, but she kept that bit to herself. “You didn’t answer my question. Should I be worried or not?”

“No. No! I don’t know why I said it. Maybe it’s because I don’t like it when you’re angry at me and you seem angry at me right now.”

“Well, do you blame me? What you did was not particularly kind. But is it the end of our relationship? No, certainly not.”

Ron pulled her in again and squeezed her tight. “I’m sorry I forgot about our date night. Please forgive me. I promise, I will make it up to you.”

Hermione wanted to dig deeper and ask him exactly how he planned to make it up to her. This was not the first time it had happened. And it likely would not be the last. But it was also hard to stay mad at him when he was being so sweet. As much as she wanted to stand firm, his cuteness softened her resolve.

“You’re forgiven,” she said, returning the kiss.

“Great. Now let’s get to bed. I am exhausted.”

“Agreed.”

Ron slipped into bed beside her and kissed her, his hot breath lingering on her lips, before he snaked a hand under her pajama top. Hermione knew she should not feel guilty for saying no to her partner, but she really was tired and she probably ought to get some good rest after spending a few hours already on an old sofa.

“Ron,” she said. “Is it alright if we… _don’t_?”

“Oh, yeah, I only—y’know—because you’re always asking.”

Hermione was silent. She did not want to read too much into what he was saying. She told herself that Ron did not mean to imply that she constantly had to bother him for sex. In fact, Ron was being considerate for offering even when they were both exhausted from their full days at work.

“I appreciate it,” Hermione said. “I really do.”

They bid each other goodnight and kissed once more before being claimed by fitful sleep. Soon enough Hermione would wish that she could go back to this moment, or any time before it. Before things would really, truly fall apart.


	8. Chapter 8

September first had come and gone, which meant Severus was forced to reckon with the fact that he had actual teaching duties once again. Of course, it was still easier than his previous years as a teacher—that was a given—but it was amazing how used to the “luxury” of a blissful, responsibility-free summer one could become. So, Severus tried to remind himself regularly just how much better he had it now than before the war.

Not only had Severus tried to change his attitude, but these past few years he had also made an effort to change up the dynamic in his classroom. And while he was still very strict where the safety of his students was concerned, he tried to be nicer and more encouraging in other aspects of his teaching. Although some habits did die hard and practically changing his entire personality was often easier said than done. Still, none of his colleagues would argue that Severus wasn’t doing his best.

He sometimes wondered how one coworker in particular would evaluate his change in teaching style, but not because he needed her approval, of course. Severus was merely interested in Granger’s thoughts from a purely academic standpoint. She had mentioned her interest in pedagogy during their one and only meeting and he was curious about how his techniques stacked up against the latest and greatest methodologies. Severus did not think he could ever become the best teacher, but he could also afford to pick up some useful tips and tricks, especially those that concerned students' behavior.

Unfortunately there hadn’t really been many opportunities for him to ask her. Obviously Severus had not actively been trying to seek Granger out, but even beyond that, their paths rarely crossed. While they might have passed each other in the hallway a couple of times or caught each other’s eyes at the staff table, Severus had not spoken to Granger since that night in his office when he had helped her streamline her lesson plans.

Severus was lingering in the library, looking for a book he had already read twenty times before, when he wondered if he ought to make a detour to her office to have a chat. It would not be the friendly sort of chat—no, strictly work-related. He also needed to ask how her first year teaching was going, even if Severus already knew the first was always the hardest. It was simply the polite thing to do.

His thoughts about her must have willed her into existence, however, because as he was walking past the aisle on Ancient Runes, he saw her bushy head browsing the stacks. She looked up just as he passed, which was bad luck on his part, because it probably seemed like he had been staring at her for a while. This had definitely not been the case. It really had only been a passing glance.

But, to his immense relief, she lifted her hand and gave him a little wave along with an easy smile. It was good to see that she was not scowling. Severus returned the gesture in kind and was surprised to feel a warmth spreading throughout his body, which he attributed, after the fact, to the sun streaming in from the windows on this late summer day. He might’ve walked over and said “hello” to her except he knew Pince was around and likely to shush them, so he continued on his way towards the potions section. Severus would just have to ask Granger about her year another day.

* * *

Later that same evening, at the teacher’s table, after Severus had checked out the potions book he needed, he overheard Filius and Minerva discussing an upcoming event. Severus would normally tune out this kind of chatter, except he caught mentions of “Hermione.” It took him a moment to register to whom they were referring since she had always only ever been “Granger” in his mind.

“...I know we usually do a sponge cake but her favorite is fruit tart…” he heard Minerva say.

He didn’t hear Filius’s response but Minerva continued, “...I know the elves don’t usually make fruit tarts for teachers’ birthdays, but I think they’ll make an exception for Hermione; they love her… Yes, I will make sure she is here that day.”

Severus took a covert look down the staff table. Sure enough, Granger was not present for this meal. Most teachers did not leave the castle in the evenings, but that was because they were all very boring individuals and had no reason to leave even when their schedules were devoid of teaching and/or nannying responsibilities. Granger, however, must have had something exciting in her life to warrant her frequent departures.

“No, she won’t suspect a thing; it won’t be on the day of her actual birthday. I’ll tell her it’s just another staff meeting,” Minerva said.

It was then Minerva noticed Severus was eavesdropping and turned to face him. “Will you be in attendance, Severus?” she asked, gazing at him over her spectacles.

“I don’t see why not,” Severus responded coolly.

“Usually you don’t have time for our—what’s the word you used?— _frivolity_ , but we would enjoy your presence nevertheless,” Minerva said. Filius chuckled beside her.

The implication rankled Severus, even if it were true that he would not want to attend a dumb work party. Perhaps this time he would come if only to prove his coworkers wrong. Not to mention that his sweet tooth could be tempted by the promise of a piece of fruit tart.

“No, I will be there. Just give me a time and a place. It’s not as if I will have anything better to do,” Severus added, thinking of Granger.

“You hear that, Minerva?” Filius said. “I think our Severus’s getting soft with age.”

Severus rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Even if he was “getting soft,” Filius had a good number of years—decades, even—on him. And while Severus did not see anything inherently wrong with becoming nicer, he seriously doubted that was actually the case. Severus was still the same loner he had always been.

After dinner had finished and Severus was returning to his room to do a little bit of grading and reading—perhaps, more accurately, looking at the stack of essays, groaning, followed by reading for leisure—he was stopped by a tap on his shoulder.

“How are you doing, Severus?” Minerva asked. Her hands were clasped and she looked as if Severus should expect a lecture.

“I am quite well, all things considered,” he said. As much as she might want to lecture him, Minerva also knew just how obstinate Severus could be.

“And what would those ‘things’ be that I ought to consider?”

Severus shrugged. “I am responsible for not only the education, but also the well-being of hundreds of children. And I don’t think my pay adequately reflects that fact.”

Minerva pretended not to hear. This was a frequent joke they shared. “By the way, Hermione told me about how you helped her with her lesson plans.”

“And?” Severus asked, a bit too briskly. _Here we go_ , he thought. _Now she’s going to force us to be friends._

But for all of his shortness, a smile quirked at the corners of Minerva’s normally tight-lipped expression. “Nothing. I just appreciate you going out of your way to do that. And I’m sure Hermione did, as well. Despite what you might think, you’re a good man, Severus.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Minerva.”

Back in his quarters, with a steaming cup of tea and a crackling fire—it was always cold in the dungeons, regardless of time of year—Severus did indeed glance at the stack of papers on his desk, just begging to be marked. But rather than starting to whittle down that mountain, Severus thought about what he had promised Minerva and Filius.

It had been many years since Severus had been forced to engage with colleagues at a work party, probably not since Albus had been running things. He did not know how these things were supposed to function under Minerva’s guidance. Would Severus be expected to dress nicely? Would he be expected to bring a gift to this party?

He did not know much about adult birthday celebrations—as Filius and Minerva had so kindly hinted at—but he was fairly certain guests did not bring gifts, especially if that adult happened to be your coworker and this was a work-sponsored event.

And yet, if gifts were not the norm for colleagues, he still did have the perfect gift in mind for Granger. It was a shame, really, that this wasn’t the case, because Severus was usually absolutely terrible at choosing gifts for people. Of course the only time he had a good idea was for someone for whom he was not obligated to buy a gift.

But how much could this gift actually set him back? Ten pounds? He could certainly afford that despite what he might have told his boss. So, there was no harm in buying it for her and giving it to her outside of the party.

_Unless_ , Severus thought, _that meant Hermione might start seeing him as a friend from that point on_. Severus certainly couldn’t have that.

Though, perhaps he could make his intentions clear by adding a sarcastic quip at the end, like, “Now that you have your own, you don’t have to use mine.”

That just might work. Severus could give her a gift and not have to deal without any sticky assumptions. He would have to make time between now and the day of her party to head into a nearby Muggle city and make his purchase.


End file.
